Confessions
by luvforsawyer
Summary: Each Bohemian makes a series of confessions. Rating for self mutilation, drug use, and adult language.
1. Mimi's Confessions

**Warnings: **_Violence (self-mutilation), drug use, mild language._

**Disclaimer: **_I still don't own RENT. It all belongs to the dear, dear Jonathan Larson._

**Note: **_I'm thinking of making this a multi-chapter piece with each chapter devoted to confessions from a different character. Please review and tell me if you think I should._

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I have a confession: my name isn't really Mimi Marquez. It's Maria Consuela Schunard. I started going by Marquez because it's my mother's maiden name. I changed it after my sister and I ran away. Angel didn't have to because our father wouldn't look for her. 

I have a confession: Benny's the one who first got me to try heroin. He stole some from his roommate. He saw how happy his friend was when he was high and figured I might like it since I was so depressed all the time.

I have a confession: Roger didn't recognize me from the club. He thinks that's where because he used to go. He doesn't recognize the snobby rich girl who made fun of him in third grade. I hope he doesn't even remember that girl.

I have a confession: I've always wanted to be a stripper. Not because I thought it was glamorous or anything. Because I wanted to piss off my parents. I wanted them to disown me like they disowned Angel. Because maybe if I did something that bad, they'd realize she didn't do anything wrong.

I have a confession: the track marks lining my arms aren't all track marks. Some are scars. Scars from where I used to cut myself when the pain got too bad. Not even Angel knows about those scars.

I have a confession: if it wasn't for Mark, I'd already be dead. I don't hold on for Roger. Roger can survive without me. He just doesn't know it. I hang on for Mark. Because I know what he's been through and I don't want to do that to him again.

I have a confession: when I found out Benny was married, I was relieved. I didn't love him—hell, I didn't even like the guy that much. Finding out he was married gave me an easy out. It's what I do—look for the easy out.

I have a confession: I have a kid somewhere. I'm nineteen, kid's got to be around three, almost four. Baby girl. I gave her up for adoption back home in New Mexico. Her father never knew about her.

I have a confession: I've known Joanne for years. She prosecuted me for drug use a few years ago. She doesn't recognize me, either.

I have a confession: I'm leaving again. I can't stand being here anymore. I can't just kill myself—everyone's already been through that, thanks to April. I'm leaving though. I'll leave Roger a note, maybe. Go somewhere…I don't know. Somewhere warm. It's too fucking cold in this city. It doesn't matter where I end up. As long as it's somewhere they won't find me.

I have a confession: I knew April. I shared needles with her. I gave her and Roger AIDS.


	2. Roger's Confessions

**Note:**_ Okay so I only got one review on the first chapter (thank you very much, rentislife) but I decided to keep going anyway. I'm hoping we learn some interesting things about each Bohemian that's also plausible. Please please review and I'll be eternally grateful!_

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Confession: April didn't kill herself because of the AIDS. I mean, yeah she had it, but that's not why she did it. A month before her suicide, we found out she miscarried. Neither of us had even suspected that she was pregnant. Probably because we were high all the time.

Confession: April's suicide note scared me more than her suicide. Selfish, but true. Her suicide meant she was out of my life forever. The note meant that I'm going to die.

Confession: I was a child prodigy. I graduated high school early, just after my fourteenth birthday. I had a B.A. in Communications by the time I turned seventeen. That's where I met Collins. Took a couple classes with him. He's agreed to keep that our little secret.

Confession: I ended up living in the loft because I was homeless. My parents kicked me out after I got arrested for stealing a car. Luckily, Mr. Johnson didn't press charges.

Confession: The only reason I stole the car was to impress Maureen and show her what a "bad boy" I was. It didn't work. It actually pissed her off.

Confession: Some sick fucked up part of me was relieved when I found out Mimi's got AIDS. Don't get me wrong, I'd never wish it on anyone. But her having AIDS meant it was okay to get close. I won't get her sick. I won't kill her.

Confession: I knew Maureen was bisexual way back in high school. I didn't tell Mark for two reasons. One, I didn't think anyone was that blind. Two, I figured a bisexual girlfriend would be a good thing. I thought he'd get a threesome, not her leaving him for some lawyer.

Confession: I didn't really go to Santa Fe. I got as far as middle of nowhere. I think it was Iowa when April's piece of shit car broke down. I stayed there a couple weeks because I was too embarrassed to call Mark and tell him the truth. So I stayed as long as I could in Iowa. A week and a half. I played my guitar on the corner for three days straight before I'd finally managed to get enough money together for the bus fare home.


	3. Mark's Confessions

January 1, 1994

9 am, Eastern Standard Time.

I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions. Nobody actually does them. I believe in New Year's Confessions. These are my confessions.

Confession One: I introduced Roger and April. That part everyone knows. The confession is that I knew April was on drugs when I hooked them up. I hoped April would straighten out, get clean if she was with Roger. Obviously that plan went straight to hell.

Confession Two: My parents disowned me. I know my friends think it's because I quit college. The real reason, I confess, is because I flunked out. That leads me to…

Confession Three: I'm a recovering alcoholic. That's how I ended up kicked out of NYU. That's why I try not to drink with the group. Nobody notices, but I never have more than three sips of whatever alcohol is being served. I drink water if I can and just tell them it's vodka. When we're all drinking, they're usually too blitzed to realize I'm not.

Confession Four: I had a one-night stand with Allison Gray of the Westport Grays. Actually, now her name's Allison Coffin. We slept together the night before she married Benny.

Confession Five: When I sold that video of the riot to the news, it wasn't for Maureen or the people of tent city or even to piss Benny off (though that was reason enough). It was for me. I knew it would get me a job offer of some sort and I wanted that attention.

Confession Six: Maureen's not the only one who cheated. Aside from my night with Allison, I also had a one-night stand with a woman I met at a bar. We didn't exchange names or numbers and so I never thought I'd hear from her or see her again, which was fine by me.

Confession Seven: Four months after that, I met the woman Maureen dumped me for, the woman from the bar. All she could say was "You're Mark?" which was no better than my reply "Joanne?" Everyone assumes the weirdness between us is because Maureen broke up with me to be with Joanne. We have no intention of telling them otherwise.


	4. Collins's Confessions

Confession. Confession's bullshit. Confession's saying you did something wrong. I don't believe in that. I'm an anarchist, remember? So here's my truths, bitches. My hidden truths.

Truth: I was never thought of myself as anything but heterosexual. Until my Angel. An Angel of the first degree.

Truth: I've been to Santa Fe. Can't fuckin' stand the place. I only talk about openin' a restaurant there because it gives us all something to dream about, to hope for. That and it's just about the only damn thing that's guaranteed to get a laugh.

Truth: I think Joanne is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. No, second sexiest. Nothin' beats my Angel.

Truth: I was in a pretty bad accident few years back. Had to have a blood transfusion. That's where I got AIDS.

Truth: I'm married. Sort of. Married this girl I went to college with. Roger knows her. Just doesn't know that we never got around to filing the divorce papers. In legal terms, she's my estranged wife. Haven't seen her in ten years.

Truth: I was with Roger the first time he shot up. He was eighteen. Just a kid. I knew I shoulda stopped him. Instead, I waited for him to finish, then shot up myself. It was my first hit too. Unlike Roger, it was also my last.

Truth: I never ran naked through the Parthenon. One night, I was drunk and a little high and told the boys I'd run naked through the Parthenon. It was just a joke, but they got all excited and impressed. I didn't have the heart to tell 'em I was kidding.


	5. Angel's Confessions

**Special Thanks:**EloraCooper4, TheSilverbow, renthead324, rentislife0619 _for reviewing the previous confessions. Glad you're liking it!_

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I don't have a lot of secrets. The ones I have, though, darlin' those will make your head spin.

Secret: Mimi's my baby sister. We ran away and she changed her name. I didn't bother. My father wouldn't look for his "fuckin' queer" of a son, as he so lovingly called me.

Secret: Everyone thinks I'm so happy and upbeat. They don't see that I smile so I don't fall apart. I'm dying. Half of them are dying. If I don't stay positive, I think I'd cut myself again.

Secret: I used to cut myself. Before Mimi and I ran away. That's how I coped with my parents hating me, hating who I am.

Secret: The only reason I'd kill myself is so the AIDS doesn't have the satisfaction.

Secret: I knew the dog was Benny's. I knew he'd broken Mimi's heart. I'd have killed the stupid dog even without that woman's money. The money was just a lovely bonus, honey.

Secret: I knew Collins before I met him in the alley. I'd seen him at a couple Life Support meetings. It was his first meetings so he was really shy and didn't talk to anybody. That's why he doesn't remember me.

Secret: I didn't finish high school. I study on my own, though, whenever I have time.

Secret: I speak four languages: English, Spanish, French, and Italian. They're all pretty close and I have an ear for languages.

Secret: I invited Mark to Life Support because I think he's sexy as all hell. Absolutely adorable. I wasn't sure if Collins was serious about me and I figured no harm in looking, right?

Secret: I'm a hemophiliac. That's how I ended up with AIDS. Blood transfusion when I was seventeen.

Secret: I gave Mimi AIDS. I'd cut myself shaving. She wouldn't listen to me when I told her I could handle it. She only touched me for an instant, but that's all it took. She had a paper-cut on her finger. Next thing we knew, my Mimi-chica had AIDS.


	6. Maureen's Confessions

Confessions? Just remember, you asked for 'em…

I confess: I cheated on Mark. Everyone knows that. But it wasn't as much as everyone thinks…the first guy, he was this co-worker and so not a big deal. Joanne and I didn't do anything besides talk until I'd broken up with Mark so I don't think it's fair to call that cheating. Everything else was just people being paranoid because I'm a flirt.

I confess: I'm not a flirt because I like attention. I flirt because I need to know that somebody wants me.

I confess: Before I broke up with Mark, this one night we were completely trashed and he passed out. I made a pass at Roger. Even high as a kite, stoned out of his mind, he pushed me away and said he doesn't fuck his buddy's girl. He doesn't remember and I'm too embarrassed to remind him.

I confess: When I call people (okay, Mark then Joanne) Pookie, it's not because I know I did something wrong. It's because I'm freaking out that they're going to leave me.

I confess: I trained as a ballerina for seventeen years. From the ages of three to twenty. When I turned twenty, I left home and came to New York.

I confess: I fucking hate ballet.

I confess: I knew that Mimi and Benny had been together before she moved into the loft. They don't know it, but I saw them making out at the bar down the street from the Life. I never mentioned it because it had nothing to do with Roger. She didn't know him and Benny, much of an ass as he is, had no way of predicting that she'd end up with Roger.

I confess: Mimi got a job at the Cat Scratch Club because they had an opening after I quit.

I confess: I told Mark I was waiting tables at this bar I knew he hated to hide from him that I was a stripper.

I confess: When we were, like, sixteen or so, Roger stole my dad's car. I acted pissed but I knew he'd done it to impress me. He still doesn't know that it did.

I confess: There are only two people who I think truly understand me—Roger and Collins.

I confess: Roger was my first.


	7. Joanne's Confessions

I don't do confessions. I state facts. That's what I know. I love margins and discipline, remember?

Fact: Mark and I had a one-night stand. I didn't even know his name. It was the most impulsive thing I've ever done. I was shocked a few months later when I learned that Mark was the guy I'd stolen Maureen from.

Fact: That night I spent with Mark was, by far, the best sexual experience of my life. Including my life with Maureen.

Fact: I didn't want to go to an Ivy League school. I wanted to be a novelist. When my parents threatened to disown me if I didn't go to Harvard, I decided to major in law.

Fact: I didn't major in law to be like my parents, who are both lawyers. I majored in law so I would know exactly how to play their stupid little games.

Fact: I get jealous and worry that Maureen's cheating because I've cheated on her. Twice.

Fact: I know Benny. He was in the same dorm as me our senior year at Harvard. Never talked to him or anything, but everybody knew who Benny was. Not that he was popular, people just knew who he was.

Fact: The woman who taught me how to tango was my first girlfriend. She left me for some guy after deciding that being a lesbian was "just a phase" for her.

Fact: I haven't figured out a way to tell Maureen (or anyone else, really), but I'm not a lesbian. I'm bisexual. Granted, I'm more attracted to women than men. But still, I'd be lying if I said I'm not attracted to men.

Fact: I smoke. A lot. I smoke more than Roger and Collins combined, which is saying something.

Fact: I didn't break up with Maureen for cheating. I broke up with Maureen because I was tired of having to convince myself that she loved me. I wanted to be with someone who would actually say it and show it.


	8. Benny's Confessions

**Note: **_Okay, this is the last of the principle cast members, but I'm liking this. I'm thinking of adding confessions for April, Allison, The Man, and maybe some other minor characters (Life Support Members, parents, the waiter at the Life, Allison's dad, etc) Opinions? _

**Special Thanks:** _Everyone who's reviewed has been so supportive and positive. Specifically, EloraCooper4, renthead324, TheSilverbow, and rentislife0619. _

Confessions have never really been my strong point. Too many things I'm not so proud of. Here goes nothing…

Confession #1: I'm a fraud. When I hooked up with Allison, my intention was to con her out of her daddy's money. What I didn't count on was falling for her.

Confession #2: I cheated on Allison and Mimi. Neither knew about the other. If they hadn't caught me, I'm not so sure I would've ever told either of them.

Confession #3: Since the first time I saw him, I've been ridiculously jealous of Roger. I'll never admit that, especially not to him, but it's true. I mean, look at him—he's an attractive, talented guy who's a complete fuck-up but everyone loves him because he's good ol' Roger.

Confession #4: I stole some of Roger's stash once and gave it to Mimi. She was always stressing out. Figure if that shit can calm Roger down, it can calm anyone down. Roger noticed it was missing and would've beat the shit out of Mark, had Collins not been there to intervene.

Confession #5: Angel didn't exactly kill the Akita Evita. I knew about the lady hiring Angel, heard her talkin' to some of the other neighbors. I hated that fuckin' dog. So when Angel started pounding on those drums, I set the dog up on the windowsill and cracked the window open. Knew the stupid thing would follow music anywhere.

Confession #6: I may or may not have HIV. Mimi and I didn't always use protection. So far, the tests say I'm clean.

Confession #7: The group has every right to hate me. I completely and totally betrayed Maureen. See, she was in an abusive relationship with Allison's brother. When she finally got out of it, I told her I'd break it off with Allison. When they got the wedding announcement, that was the end of it.

Confession #8: Marrying Allison is the smartest and dumbest thing I've ever done.

Confession #9: I don't give a damn about CyberArts. Only reason I even went along with the idea's because I was clinging to the hope that this could somehow fix things between my friends and I. Like if I got them out of that hellhole loft they'd forgive me for being such an asshole.

Confession #10: I hate myself more than any of them could hate me.


	9. The Man's Confessions

**Note:** _Here's The Man's confessions. Warning you now, he has quite a foul mouth (is anyone surprised?). Anyways, I'll keep this going with the minor characters as long as I keep getting reviews! And ElenoraCooper, I'm trying to brainstorm how I could go around again so we'll see…_

You want my confessions? Well here you go, sweetie pie. Just remember, you fuckin' asked for it.

Confession: I got a name. I know what you're thinking—no shit, everyone's got one. But see I gotta keep mine quiet to keep the cops off my fuckin' case. Hard to catch somebody who's name is just The Man. My real name is Jeremiah Ericsson. Tell anyone and you die.

Confession: I was April's big brother. She got into the drug scene first but when she told me about the bank dealers make, I figured no fuckin' way was I stayin' out of this one.

Confession: I don't have AIDS. Those fuckers all assume I do but I'm not a complete jackass. I don't share needles, I don't fuck clients—at least not without condoms. I know most of 'em got the virus so there's no fuckin' way I'm goin' down because they're irresponsible.

Confession: Davis thinks I don't remember him. Course I do. Fuckin' punk got half his smack free while he was fuckin' April. I prefer not to bring up that I remember him. Besides, I meant what I said about him dealin' to Mimi. Steal my clients and die.

Confession: I got no fuckin' clue why Mimi got into this shit. I went and saw her dance a few times before she started usin' and the bitch was good. Not just a good dancer, she's pretty smart too. Ain't even like all the strippers there do it. That chick before Mimi, Maureen, she didn't fuck around with this shit.

Confession: I visit my sister's grave once a week. I may be an asshole, but I ain't some heartless bastard.


	10. April's Confessions

Confessions? I fucking hate confessions. They're bullshit. Nothing good comes from confessions. But fine, whatever. Here's my confessions. Not like my life could get any more fucked up.

Confession One: The Man is my big brother Jeremiah. I started using before he started dealing. When he saw how much cash I was spending on that shit, he figured he could make a nice chunk of change selling to other junkies.

Confession Two: I know exactly where I got AIDS. This chick at a party, some little dancer who looked like she was all of sixteen. I can't even remember her fuckin' name. We shot up together. Three weeks later she tracked me down through my brother and told me she'd been diagnosed.

Confession Three: I knew I had AIDS a couple weeks before I slit my wrists. Didn't tell Roger. We fought enough without him throwing that in my face.

Confession Four: Mark told Roger I was a "bad influence" and all that stupid After-school special crap. He was right. I got Roger to shoot up, I got him addicted to drugs, and I gave him AIDS.

Confession Five: I got with Roger because I wanted to know what it was like to fuck a rock star.

Confession Six: I stayed with Roger because he was the first guy who didn't treat me like a cheap slut. Even if I probably was.

Confession Seven: I knew I was pregnant. I knew if I kept shooting up I'd miscarry. I didn't have the balls to get an abortion and there was no fucking way I could tell Roger.

Confession Eight: I couldn't tell Roger because I knew the baby might not've been his.

Confession Nine: I didn't deserve Roger. I know I didn't. I cheated on him. I turned him into a junkie. I fucked up his whole life. I gave him AIDS. He deserved better than that. Better than me.

Confession Ten: I'm sorry.


	11. Allison's Confessions

I have few things in my life I feel the need to confess to. That is not to say I have not made mistakes, but I do not believe I've been fully in the wrong. That being said, here are my confessions.

I confess: I married Benjamin because he asked me to. If he hadn't asked me to, I would've found someone else. Anything to get me out of my parents' house.

I confess: I had an affair with Mark Cohen the night before my wedding.

I confess: I knew about Benjamin's little girlfriend, Mimi. I didn't care until I found out that she'd exposed him to the virus and that he, in turn, had exposed me.

I confess: I am absolutely disgusted by some of Benjamin's former friends. Can you imagine my Benjamin cavorting around with some marijuana-smoking homosexual anarchist and an ex-junkie wanna-be rock star? My Benjamin does not belong with such people.

I confess: My brother dated Maureen once. Before she announced being a lesbian, of course. I never liked her. She's low-class, loud-mouthed, and hardly a lady.

I confess: I don't really care if my father evicts Benjamin's friends.

I confess: The only reason I began seeing Benjamin was to get back at my parents for threatening to cut off my trust fund.

I confess: I know Benjamin's little friends call me Muffy. I know they think I'm a snobbish pretentious bitch. I don't care. I am.

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**Note:** _Okay I know that was all a bit harsh, but I just picture her as some stuck-up little rich girl who doesn't see anything beyond herself and her needs. Still to come: Confessions from _Gordon _(as requested), _Paul, _possibly other Life Support members, and more. Let me know if there are any other certain confessions you'd like. Thanks for all the reviews!_


	12. Steve's Confessions

I confess: My t-cell count is lower than I've told the group. I don't want them to know. I don't want them to be upset.

I confess: I'm ready to die. I'm not scared or afraid. The only thing that worries me is the thing that worries us all…

Will I lose my dignity?

_Will someone care? _

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

I confess: I've had HIV for a little over four years. An ex-girlfriend called me up and told me she was positive. Since they don't know when she got it, I had to get tested too. And I tested positive.

I confess: I used to be a boxer. Damn good one, too.

I confess: I'm a college drop-out. I dropped out when I was diagnosed. I know I shouldn't let this disease stop my life. That's why I dropped out. I don't know how long I've got and there's no way I'm spending my last days in a classroom.

I confess: I'm a father. The ex-girlfriend who tested positive is also the mother of my baby girl. So far the baby's tests have all come back negative and I thank God for that every single day.

I confess: My only regret is that I probably won't be around to see my little girl grow up. I won't be able to take pictures of her prom dates or hug her at her graduation. I won't be there to walk her down the aisle. Those are my only regrets.


	13. Gordon's Confessions

**Note:**_ Okay, as far as I can tell from librettos, Gordon was the Life Support member who says "Reason says I should've died three years ago" and "I'm used to relying on intellect" so I hope I'm right on that. (Forgive me if I'm wrong)_

* * *

I'm used to relying on intellect. Facts. Absolutes. These I know. These I understand. I try to open up to more. I have to open up to more. See, looking at the facts alone, I should be dead. So here are the truths, my truths.

Truth: I was diagnosed with HIV four years ago. The doctor gave me a year, at most.

Truth: I don't know how I got HIV. I haven't been very careful about my sexual encounters. I had no reason to, or so I thought.

Truth: When I found out my t-cell count was low…at first, I was mad, then scared… But when I thought about it, really thought about it, I was relieved. No more waiting, no more wondering, I knew what was coming. Death.

Truth: I live alone. My parents are dead. The only person I really ever loved went screaming for the hills when I was diagnosed. I probably would've done the same if the situation were reversed.

Truth: I'm a lawyer. That's why I believe so firmly in fact. Facts are what I know. It's what I'm about—what can I prove, what can I see and touch and hear. Nothing open for interpretation, nothing deniable.

Truth: I started going to Life Support after I heard about it from my friend, Steve. He was diagnosed six months before me. I'm not sure how he got it.

Truth: I admire Mark, that filmmaker who's come in a few times. He doesn't have to deal with this—he doesn't have it. Sure, his friends have it, but he's negative. And yet he chooses to come in, to film us, to document our lives and tell our stories. I admire the strength it must take for him to walk in here and know that he's going to watch us all die.

Truth: I hope I die before the rest of the group. I don't know that I could handle watching these people waste away.

Truth: Even with everything I deal with and as much as I may complain or as pessimistic as I may be, I'm happier now than I've ever been in my whole life.


	14. Paul's Confessions

I'm usually listening to confessions, not making them. I guess this is what it feels like to be on the other end.

I confess: I'm a therapist. I was a therapist at a local clinic that specialized in working with teens.

I confess: The clinic fired me when they found out I have AIDS.

I confess: I got AIDS from unprotected sex. Apparently the clinic felt that that was unforgivable since I counseled hormonal teenagers.

I confess: I started Life Support to help myself as much as others. After the clinic fired me, there was no way to fill my time. I have enough in savings to not have to work, but I still want something to make me feel useful.

I confess: I've accepted that I'm going to die. What I can't accept, what I can't fathom, is the sense of how young some of the members of our group are. Angel and Mimi are the youngest. Angel can't be more than twenty-three, twenty-four at most. And Mimi, she breaks my heart. She reminds me of my little sister, same age and all. She's nineteen. Just a kid. And she's dying.

I confess: I worry about the people here. I worry when I notice the bags under Pam's eyes from another sleepless night. I worry when I hear Gordon coughing, when I see Angel in jeans, when I feel the bones in Ali's back as I hug her thin frame. I worry about all of them, but I don't say it. A therapist is to keep his distance.

I confess: I don't have all the answers. I try to have the answers, I try to pretend I have the answers, but I'm as clueless as they all are.

I confess: I'm sicker than the others know. My t-cells are critically low. I haven't told them because I don't know how they'll handle it. I don't want to see the group fall apart. More than that, I don't want to see if they don't care.

I confess: I let Mark Cohen come film us to have our stories told and also in hopes that he'll take over leading this group when I'm gone. I haven't told him that last part.


	15. What next?

Okay so I've had several requests to keep going with this and requests to go back around with our Bohemians. I'm not sure how I'd go around, so I figure I'll elaborate on some of them. Listed below are some of the major confessions from the main group. Review to let me know which ones you'd like to see as one-shots and we'll see what happens! If you don't see a confession here that really struck you, let me know and maybe I'll work it in. Here's the choices:

Mark

One-night stand with Allison Gray

Angel

Fighting with father

Benny

Conning Allison

Meeting Roger

Collins

Car accident that resulted in AIDS

Marriage

Maureen

Ballet and quitting it

Stripping at the Cat Scratch Club, hiding it from Mark, quitting

Mimi

Cutting

Having child

Sharing needles with April

Roger

Child prodigy

Santa Fe

Joanne

Fighting with parents about Harvard

Mark/Joanne

One-night stand (and/or the aftermath when they met before the protest)

Angel/Mimi

Running away

Angel's diagnosis

Mimi's diagnosis

Benny/Mimi

Benny getting her high with Roger's stash

Benny/Roger

Meeting

Collins/Roger

Meeting in college

Shooting up

Maureen/Roger

Roger stealing her dad's car, her reaction

First time

Maureen making a pass at him

Mimi/Roger

Third-grade

April/Roger

Miscarriage

Suicide


	16. This is Weird

**Note:** _Okay so this is the first one-shot. Hope you guys like it. More one-shots to follow. Thanks so much for all the input. I'm going to do as many of the voted-for and requested ones. _

* * *

Mark stepped out of the bathroom and gave a few final swipes to his hair. Roger whistled and set down his guitar.

"Where the fuck're you goin'?" he asked with a laugh.

"Nowhere."

"You and Maureen got a hot date?"

"No time soon."

"Marky? You all right?"

"Take your AZT."

Mark picked up his scarf and headed for the door. Roger jumped up and grabbed his arm.

"Mark, seriously. What's goin' on?"

"I'm going out."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone. I'm a big boy. I can even tie my own shoes," he said with a smirk.

Roger let go of his arm. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"Your camera. You never go out alone without that camera."

"Tonight I do."

"So you're going out alone without Maureen and without your camera."

"What the hell do you want me to say, Roger?"

"How about you just tell me what the hell's going on?"

"She cheated."

"What?"

"She fucking cheated, okay? She cheated and I'm going out."

"You okay? I mean, going out alone or whatever?"

Mark's voice quieted. "I'm fine."

* * *

An hour later, Mark finished his second beer. He could feel a slight buzz. Just enough that he felt some of the tension leaving him. Again. She'd cheated again. The first time, she'd been drunk. Fine, whatever. But now she cheated again. Mark had stormed out before she even finished saying anything.

"Buy you a drink?" a voice beside him said.

Mark turned his head and saw an African American woman in a business suit sitting down beside him.

"Aren't I supposed to ask you that?"

She smiled, blushing slightly. "Guess I'm not one for convention."

Mark accepted the beer from her and raised it in her direction. "To hating convention."

"Amen."

They drank and sat for a minute in silence. Mark glanced over at her. She was something. Her short black hair was just wild enough to give an edge to her otherwise polished look.

"So what brings you here?" she asked.

"Just hoping for a good time. You?" Mark tried to sound flirtatious, but knew it had never been his forte.

"Same," she said, a small smile gracing her lips.

They finished their drinks and Mark insisted on buying the next round. By the time those were gone, he felt looser, more relaxed. More daring.

"You, uh, you wanna dance?" he asked, trying not to slur.

She nodded and stretched a hand out to him. Mark took her hand and led her to the dance floor. It wasn't so much a dance floor as an empty space between the bar and the tables. They swayed unsteadily, holding onto each other. After a few minutes, Mark laughed.

"I'm not a very good dancer," he said.

"Me either," she slurred, giggling.

They headed back to the bar and ordered more drinks. Mark smiled at her and, on alcohol-driven impulse, leaned in for a kiss. He half-expected her to slap him. The filmmaker was pleasantly surprised when she slipped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss.

* * *

The next morning, Mark opened his eyes and groaned, shutting them again. The woman from the bar lay curled up beside him, her head on his chest. He remembered in an instant everything that had happened. The kiss, paying the tab, the cab ride to her apartment. He remembered the kissing, the caressing, her mouth, her hands…His eyes opened when he felt her shift away from him.

"Um…hi," she said, blushing.

"Hi," Mark said, feeling his own cheeks flushing. "You, um, sleep okay?"

"Ye-yeah. You?"

Mark nodded, then groaned. "Shit…you got any aspirin though? My head's killing me."

"Mine too. I'll be right back."

He found his glasses on the nightstand beside the bed and slipped them on. The woman, he noticed that she slipped a robe on first. Maureen never did that. She'd strut around the loft, not caring at all about Roger or anyone else seeing her. This woman, she was different. Shyer, more reserved. Mark frowned at the thought of Maureen….What the hell was he going to do?

The woman came back with a couple of aspirin and a cup of water. Mark took it and smiled gratefully.

"I, um, I'm just going to go get dressed. I have to go to work."

"Yeah, I, uh, I gotta get going too."

Mark leaned over the side of the bed and found his boxers. He slipped them on under the blankets before getting out of bed. Pulling up his jeans, he tried not to panic. What the hell had he been thinking? What if this woman thought it meant something? Shit, what if it did mean something?

The woman pulled another business suit from her closet. It looked like the one from last night, just a different color. She bit her lip and frowned.

"Um, look, about last night…we were really drunk."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, yeah we were."

"Let's, um, let's not make a big thing of this, okay?"

Mark sighed in relief. "Oh, good. I was afraid you'd think…"

"I worried the same thing about you…so, um, it's fine. We're two consenting adults who met, had a little too much to drink, and spent one night together."

"Exactly. Perfectly normal," he said as he pulled his sweater over his head. "And now I'll just find my shoes and I'll be on my way."

The woman smiled, looking as relieved as Mark felt. "Thanks."

"You too."

Mark slipped his shoes on and left. It took him a minute to get his bearings and figure out which direction was home. He was nearly at the loft before he realized he didn't even know the woman's name.

_

* * *

Four Months Later…_

Mark sighed, wondering why he hadn't just told Maureen no. He approached the makeshift stage and looked around. No sign of Maureen. A woman knelt in front of the mixers, mumbling to herself.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for Maureen. She called—" he stopped when the woman stood up.

The woman from the bar. Mark's eyes widened and he tried to stop blushing. "Um…hi."

The woman frowned, eyes full of embarrassment. "Wait—you're Mark?"

How the hell did she know his name? Unless… "Joanne?"

She nodded, shifting around. "I told her not to call you."

"That's Maureen," he said with a shrug. "But can I help since I'm here?"

"I hired an engineer," she said quickly.

"Oh, okay. Well, um, nice, uh, nice meeting you again," he mumbled as he turned away. This was Joanne? The woman from the bar was the woman Maureen had cheated with?

"Wait," Joanne said. Mark froze but didn't turn back. "He's three hours late."

Shit. Mark turned back, trying not to make eye contact. He unwound his scarf and knelt, staring at the wires tangled on the floor and plugged into various parts of the mixer.

"The samples won't delay, but the cable—"

"There's another way." Mark pointed to the microphone. "Say something. Anything."

"Test, one-two-three—"

"Anything but that," Mark said.

"This is weird," she said quietly.

"It's weird," he agreed.

"Very weird."

"Fuckin' weird."


	17. Kissing Roger

**Note: **_Thanks again for all the positive feedback and reviews. You guys are awesome! _:)

* * *

Maureen took another swig of Stoli and giggled. "Where'd we get this again?"

Roger shrugged. "Collins, maybe?"

She giggled again. "Collins hasn't been home in like forever."

Roger laughed, shrugging again. He dropped his cigarette in an empty cup currently serving as his ash tray and took another drink.

"Pookie, why you so quiet?"

Mark slumped over in his seat. Maureen giggled again as Roger staggered into the bathroom.

"Pookie! Wake up!"

Mark groaned, but didn't open his eyes. Maureen leaned over and kissed his neck. It drove him nuts when she did that. At least, it drove him nuts when he was conscious enough to feel it.

"You're no fun!" she said, pouting her lips.

Roger returned from the bathroom, slightly more dazed. She could tell he'd just shot up. Sober, she would've lashed into him and read him a riot act about how much he was fucking up his life. But somehow, drunk and with her boyfriend passed out beside her, it didn't seem so bad.

Roger lit up another cigarette and offered one to Maureen. She shook her head.

"What? You quittin' or somethin'?"

Maureen shook her head again and smiled. "Just got a better idea of what to put my mouth on."

Roger grinned, not following her, but loving to see Maureen drunk. She got so damn giggly and flirty when she was drunk. He took another drink.

"Wassat?"

"What?"

"What'd you wanna put your mouth on ?"

"You," she said with a wink as she crawled over to him, swaying from the alcohol.

Roger watched her lean in, still not fully processing what she was doing. But God, it felt good. The hit in the bathroom was fully kicking in, making each sensation feel a thousand times better than it should've. She kissed his neck, his ear, then finally moved to his mouth. He held the cigarette away so as not to burn her. This was Maureen. He'd forgotten how good she kissed, how good she felt. Why the fuck had he forgotten…Mark. Roger shoved her away.

"Uh-uh."

"What? I know you liked it," she slurred, eyes and hands drifting to his crotch.

"Yeah well, you're with Mark."

Maureen rolled her eyes and giggled. "Pookie's passed out. He won't know. He won't ever have to know."

"I'll know."

"That's the point," she giggled. Maureen moved towards him again, swaying more than before.

Roger put his hands up, holding her at bay. "Serious, Mo. I don't fuck my friend's girlfriend."

Maureen pouted, sitting back. Roger got up and went to his room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

In the morning, Maureen woke up on the couch. Mark sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, holding his head. She sat up and then laid back down.

"Moved too quick," she muttered.

"Morning, baby," Mark said quietly.

"Mmm."

Maureen lay on the couch, eyes closed. Her head was killing her. Something else, though. She couldn't shake the feeling that something else happened.

"Pookie?"

"Huh?"

"Anything weird happen last night?"

"Don't think so. Course I don't remember much of it, so who the hell knows?"

Maureen heard a door opening slowly. One perk to getting drunk together—at least everyone was hung over and knew to be quiet. Maureen sat up, this time much slower than before, and opened her eyes. Roger's eyes were bloodshot and she could see fresh track marks on his arms.

Groaning, the night before came rushing back to her. Kissing Roger, touching Roger… Roger pushing her away. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Roger lit up another cigarette and sat on the couch beside her.

"You okay, Mo?"

She gave an embarrassed smile. "Um, yeah…look about last night…"

Roger laughed. "We were fucked up. I don't remember a fuckin' thing."

"You don't?"

"Fuck no. Think I drank more than I ever have before."

Maureen studied his face, searching for any sign that he did remember. His clueless expression as his gaze met hers assured her he had no idea what she'd done, what she'd tried to do.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"What'd you wanna say 'bout last night?"

"Oh, nothin'…I was gonna see if you remembered anything 'cause Pookie and me don't."

Roger shook his head. "Sorry, babe."

Maureen watched him get up and join Mark at the table. She sighed and swallowed the feelings of guilt and embarrassment. Mark had no idea what she'd done, what she'd tried to do. Roger had no memory of it. Neither of them knew, and Maureen decided in that instant that neither of them ever would.


	18. To Dance

**Note: **_Thanks for all the reviews guys! I'm really glad you guys seem to be enjoying it. This one's a little longer than the last few, but I'm hoping you think it's worth it! It's the end of Maureen's ballet days._

_InsaneAquaChic: yeah there are some inaccuracies. I realize Mimi's in contact with her mother in the play. I figure there's no mention of her father, so maybe her father did disown her and Angel. Let's just consider the Mimi and her family thing AU, ok:) And I realize not everyone in NY is related. The only people I've had be related in this story is Angel and Mimi and that's only because I wondered about the possibility of them being related as an explanation for their close friendship. Thanks for the honest opinion though._

* * *

Maureen stopped, frozen in place. She stared in the mirror. Who the hell had she become? Her brown curls were tied in a painfully tight bun on top of her head.

"Miss Johnson! Focus!" Madame yelled.

Madame glared at her. Maureen stared at the lean body in the mirror. She looked like a doll. Like a damned doll.

"I can't take this anymore," she said quietly.

Maureen could feel the gaze of the other dancers on her back. Seventeen years she'd been doing this. It was bullshit. Maureen stormed out of the dance school, not bothering to even change out of her slippers or even grab her bag. She found a pay phone and made a collect call to the only person who was always there.

"Yeah?"

"Roger, I need you to come get me."

"Okay. You at home?"

"Ballet."

"All right. Give me five?"

"Okay. Thanks."

True to his word, Roger pulled up in front of the ballet school five minutes later. Maureen jumped up from her seat against the brick face of the building and slid into the beat-up pickup. Roger laughed when he saw her still in her tights and bodysuit.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"It's okay. Why didn't you change though?"

"Didn't exactly wait for rehearsal to end."

Roger raised an eyebrow but pulled the truck back out into traffic. "So I'm guessing you don't want to go home?"

Maureen shook her head.

"My place then?"

"You mind?"

Roger shook his head. "Not at all."

They drove in silence to Roger's apartment. Maureen was surprised at how angry she suddenly felt. Seventeen fucking years she'd been doing this. And she'd never once enjoyed it. Sure, she was pretty damn good at it, but that wasn't the point. Maureen Johnson had never had the choice about dancing.

In the apartment, Roger cleared some of his usual clutter off the couch for them to sit. "So you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Who says something happened?"

Roger gave a little laugh. "Fine, nothing happened."

Roger went to the bedroom, leaving Maureen on the couch. She wondered what the hell she was going to tell her parents. Roger dropped a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt on the couch beside her.

"Here. Figured you probably aren't too comfortable in that get-up and since you didn't grab your bag…"

She nodded and took the clothes to the bathroom. The pants were too big, as was the shirt. Somehow, though, they were the comfiest clothes Maureen had ever worn. Staring into the mirror, she smiled. Better, but not quite herself. Maureen pulled the bun out of her hair and shook her head, spilling her dark curls around her shoulders.

Roger sat strumming his guitar but put it down when she came out. She smiled and sighed. Settling back down onto the couch, Maureen closed her eyes before beginning.

"I hate ballet."

"Rough rehearsal?"

"No…I just…I can't do it anymore."

"Mo, you're the best dancer they—"

"I'm not being literal, Rog…I just…I fucking hate ballet. I hate watching it, I hate doing it, I hate practicing it, I hate everything related to it."

"Then why d'you do it?"

"You forget what my parents are like?"

"Touché."

"They've made me do ballet since I was three. As long as I can remember. And for as long as I can remember, I've fucking hated it."

"Ever tell them?" Roger asked as she took another drink.

"Every fuckin' year. This year, I tried not signing up for it and not mentioning it. Mom called the school and signed up for me."

"Mo, you're twenty years old. Why don't you just leave?"

Maureen looked over at him, her eyes suddenly full of tears. "You think I haven't tried that? You want to know the real reason I didn't go to college? Mom said it would interfere with my dancing and Dad said ballerinas don't need degrees."

Roger winced, sorry that his friend was treated that way by her own parents.

Maureen's eyes filled with tears. "Damn it! Now I'm gonna be all girly and emotional."

Roger moved to sit next to her. He wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's all right. You just need to talk to them. I'll talk to them with you, if you want. It'll be okay."

Maureen laughed through her tears. Roger pulled back to look her in the eye.

"What? What's so funny?"

"You can't talk to my parents with me."

"Why's that funny? And why not?"

"Because they hate you."

"What? Why? Since when?"

"Since you stole my dad's car."

Roger laughed. "That was, like, five years ago! And I only had it for twenty minutes!"

She laughed, her breathing steadying. Her laugh quieted and she smiled at Roger. "Thanks, Roger for coming to get me and talking to me and everything."

He gave a small smile. "Don't mention it."

"I just couldn't take it anymore. You know those full-wall mirrors they have? I was watching myself to check my positioning and all that and I don't know… I just… I just felt like such a fake…all that shit. That's not me. I looked like a fucking doll."

Roger nodded. "That's true. You look much more like the Maureen I know when your hair's like now. All wild, like it just lost a fight with a wild jungle cat."

"Hey!"

"In a good way!" he laughed as she punched his arm.

Maureen jumped when the phone rang. Roger answered and frowned. After a minute, he put a hand over the mouth of the phone. "Your mom," he whispered.

Maureen took a deep breath and grabbed the phone from him. "Hi Mother."

Five minutes of screaming and crying later, Maureen slammed the phone down. She brushed at her tears and started pacing. Roger sighed. Maureen only paced when angry.

"Can you believe that woman?"

"Well, I didn't really hear what she—"

"She kicked me out! She said unless I came home in ten minutes and apologize to her and that bitch of an instructor, I could pick up my stuff from the curb."

"That's a little harsh."

"No shit. She's such a psycho. It's just ballet! Who fucking cares if I'm in goddamned ballet classes? She acts like I'm four fucking years old still!"

"Mo, calm down," Roger said.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I calm down, I'll realize what I just did and—shit, what did I just do? Where am I gonna go? What the hell am I going to do? I can't go back there but what the hell else am I gonna do?"

Roger tried to hold back his laugh, but couldn't.

"And what the hell are you laughing at?"

"Mo, you really need to calm the fuck down. You want to go back?"

"Fuck no."

"Okay. Then calm down. You and me will go get your stuff. You can move in here. I'm sure you can get a job. You can wait tables or something. It'll be fine."

"You're my best friend, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, only 'cause I'm the only one who puts up with your dramatics," he teased.

Maureen laughed. "Yeah but that's 'cause you love me."

"Yep. The obnoxious little sister I never had."


	19. Will I?

**Note: **_Okay, after a bit of thought and consideration, I decided to revise this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think of it. Also, with the exception of the last three lines, everything written in italics is two months prior to the diagnosis. Thanks!_

* * *

"Collins, you got mail," Roger said.

"What? From who?"

Roger looked over the envelope and tossed it to Collins. "Queens County Hospital."

The philosopher opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. Roger frowned when Collins's hands started to shake.

"Collins? You okay, man?"

Collins shook his head and dropped the letter to the table. He backed up, shaking his head.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm fine. I'm fine. It's fine. I'm fine."

"Collins, what's wrong?"

_

* * *

Two months earlier…_

"_Speak."_

"_Guys, it's Benny. Answer the phone. Please…"_

"_Benny? Where are you guys? You were supposed to be home hours ago," Mark said._

"_We got in an accident."_

"_Oh my God."_

"_Collins…shit…you guys gotta come."_

"_What happened? Is Collins okay? Are you okay?"_

"_I'm fine. I-I don't know. This car just—shit…Mark, you guys gotta come. I'm freakin' out here."_

"_Just take a deep breath. Is Collins okay?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_What hospital?"_

"_Queens County."_

"_We'll be there in five."_

"_Hurry."_

_Mark hung up and turned to Maureen. "Where's Roger?"_

"_Band rehearsal, where else? It's where he always is lately."_

"_Call him."_

"_What?"_

"_Call him now. Collins and Benny were in an accident. You and I are going. I'll get our shit. Call him and tell him to meet us at Queens Hospital."_

* * *

"They-they think…the accident…they—shit…the blood…fuck…"

"Col, what? They think what?"

Collins looked at Roger, tears pooling in his eyes. "They think I have AIDS."

"What?"

"The transfusion…"

* * *

"_Where is he?" Roger asked, running into the waiting room. Mark jumped from his seat._

"_He's in surgery."_

"_Surgery? Jesus, what the hell happened?"_

"_There was a car accident."_

"_Benny okay?"_

"_Yeah, yeah he's okay. Maureen dragged him downstairs to get some coffee. Cuts and bruises, other than that he's okay."_

"_How is that possible?" Roger asked, running a hand through his hair._

_Mark sighed, shrugging. "I don't know, man. Benny said the car that hit them slammed into the passenger side, where Collins was sitting…"_

"_Fuck."_

_A doctor came in. "Mr. Cohen?"_

"_Yes, yes, I'm Mr. Cohen. How is he?"_

_The doctor pursed his lips. "He lost a lot of blood in the accident. He required multiple transfusions throughout the surgery. We were able to stop the internal bleeding and set the broken bones of his wrist."_

"_What? What's that look for?" Roger asked._

"_Roger, calm down."_

"_No. He's got that look. That look doctors all get when they don't want to tell you something. Now what is it?"_

"_As I said, Mr. Collins lost a lot of blood in the accident. We'll need to keep him in the intensive care unit for the time being. He's still unconscious and we need to keep a close eye on him."_

"_What the fuck does that mean?"_

"_It means that we've done the best we can and the rest depends on Mr. Collins's will."_

* * *

Roger grabbed the paper from Collins and read it over. Collins must've read it wrong. He had to have read it wrong.

"I have to go for a test."

Collins sank to the floor as Roger began to pace, a strange calmness washing over him. Roger didn't cope with his own problems well, but he usually managed to keep a level head when other people were having a crisis.

"Okay, deep breaths. Um…first thing we're going to do is stay calm. I'm going to call the guys and cancel practice."

Collins shook his head.

"Don't argue. I'm canceling practice. One cancelled practice won't be the end of the band. Then, I'm takin' you to the clinic to get tested."

"I can't. I can't get that test," Collins said, still shaking his head.

"You have to."

"I can't, Roger. If I get that test and I find out…if I find out that I have it, I'll know I'm dying."

"Collins, you have to. Please. They can give you medicine, even if the test comes back positive. I mean, they'll treat you. There's stuff they can do. There are treatments."

"Yeah, to prolong the inevitable."

"Collins, seriously, please. Let's go, okay?"

Collins thought for a minute and nodded. "One condition."

"What?"

"No telling Mark or Maureen or Benny. I don't want them worrying for no reason."

* * *

Three weeks later, Collins's test results came back positive. As the stunned men made their way back to the loft, Roger clutched the prescriptions and information pamphlets in his hand. Collins stayed silent until they were almost at the loft. He stopped and turned to Roger.

"This changes everything."

"But it'll be okay."

"Not really, boy, but thanks," Collins said with a small smile. He blinked back tears. "Will I lose my dignity?"

"What?"

"This...the HIV...the AIDS...I know what people think of people with AIDS…I know…I know what they say…I know what they think…" Collins took a breath and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Collins, I'm not sure what you're asking me."

"_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"_


	20. Run Away, Hit the Road

**Note: **_This one was pretty tough to write...Please let me know what you guys honestly think...I may edit/revise this later. Also, I tried to keep their relationship with their mother out of the story since we all know Mimi's mother calls her during RENT (stage version). Slightly AU though, since Mimi recalls the first time she met Angel during Angel's funeral. Enjoy! (Or leave feedback as to what you don't enjoy lol)_

* * *

Angelo sat on his sister's bed, tears running down his cheeks. Maria wiped them away.

"Honey, it'll be okay. I promise."

"No it won't, Mar…He's gonna hate me."

"Ang, he won't hate you. And if he does, we'll leave."

"We?"

"You're my big brother, well, sister. You really think I'm lettin' you skip out on me?"

Angelo smiled and leaned in to hug Maria. She smiled back and stood up. Angelo did the same and took a deep breath.

"Okay…here goes nothing, chica."

"You want me to come with you?"

Angelo paused, but shook his head. "I gotta do this myself."

"Okay. Just, um, yell or something if you need me, okay?"

"Thanks, chica."

A few minutes later, Maria heard shouting. Their father was screaming at Angelo.

"You are my hijo—not hija! Chico, not chica!"

"But Padre—"

"Out of my house! Pack your things and get out!"

Maria could hear her mother crying. She grabbed her duffel bag and stuffed in whatever clothes she could find, along with a few pictures. When she was finished, she went to Angelo's room and stuffed his backpack with clothes and his drumsticks.

The yelling continued, Angelo now becoming just as loud. His tone, though, wasn't one of anger. Instead, he sounded hurt. Maria could tell he'd been crying. She slipped her jacket on and brushed away tears she hadn't realized she was shedding. Maria grabbed Angelo's favorite red jacket and headed downstairs.

Mama sat on the sofa, crying. Padre and Angelo stood staring at one another, each screaming. Angelo was crying. Maria stepped into the room.

"Stop!"

Her father spun and saw her with the bags. "You! You knew about this?"

"I know my hermana is hurting."

Crossing the room in two steps, he backhanded Maria. "You have no sister!"

Maria had been knocked to the ground but leapt to her feet. She picked up the bags. "Come on, Angelo."

"Maria, no. No, please, mi hija. Please…"

"I'm sorry Mama, we're going."

"Maria, you walk out that door and you'll never come back in!" her father warned.

"I will never walk back in until you accept my _sister_ for who _she _is."

Maria reached a hand out to Angelo. "Come on, honey. Let's go."

"Maria! Angelo! Please, no…"

"I'm sorry, Mama," Angelo whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, Mama. I'll call."

Maria handed Angelo the backpack and red jacket. "Here."

Outside, the pair began to walk, neither certain of where they'd end up, neither caring. They walked in silence for the first hour before Angelo spoke up.

"You didn't have to leave with me."

"Don't, Angelo, I told you before that I would."

"I'm sorry he hit you."

Maria stopped walking. "No. Don't do that. Don't apologize for him."

Angelo nodded and pulled Maria into a hug. "What are we going to do, chica?"

"Get jobs…go wherever the hell we want."

"How does New York sound?"

"New York?"

"New York City's the center of the universe."

"True. And we've got money. Not a lot, but enough for a couple bus tickets, right?"

"Padre will look for you though."

"Then I'll change my name."

"To what? Mary Smith?"

Maria thought for a minute and then smiled. "Do you remember what you used to call me when we were little?"

"Mimi! Perfect! Mimi-chica."

"And I'll use Mama's last name."

"Mimi Marquez. Sounds beautiful, chica."

"And what about you?"

Angelo frowned. "We both know Padre won't look for me."

"But New York City…that gives us a chance to start over. You want to start over as Angelo Schunard?"

"I want to be who I feel I am inside," Angelo said quietly.

"Then Angel…Angelo is almost Angel and the name suits you."

Angelo nodded. A small smile tugged up his lips as he said it. "Angel Dumott Schunard."

"See? You're already smiling."

"Let's find the bus station."


	21. Trusting Desire

**Note: **_Thanks for the reviews, guys! Glad you liked it. This chapter is the "Maureen and Roger's First Time" confession. I haven't written anything like this before, so feel free to let me know exactly what you think of this chapter. _

**Warning: **_This chapter details sex, not too graphic, I don't think, but be warned. If it offends you, feel free to skip this chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

Maureen knocked on the door, hoping he was home. He opened the door a minute later.

"Mo? What's wrong?"

"My parents."

"Come in," he said, instantly stepping aside.

She glanced around the living room. "No parents?"

"Mom's workin' the night shift and Dad's on another business trip."

Maureen nodded and sat down on the couch. Roger sat beside her. "Wanna talk about it?"

"They just—they don't understand anything."

"Come on, Mo, I'm sure it'll blow over just like it always was. Whatever happened, babe, it'll be okay."

She shook her head, tears in her eyes now.

"What? What happened?"

"They want me to break up with you."

Roger froze. Maureen put a hand on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.

"I'm not doing that, Rog. I'm not. I just, I didn't know where else to go. I'm not breaking up with you. I can't."

She was crying now. Roger put his arms around her, hugging her tightly. He kissed the top of her head.

"Any particular reason?"

"Because I love you."

Roger smiled. "I love you too, baby. But I meant is there any particular reason why they want us to break up?"

"Oh. Um…I don't know…I wasn't really listening. Something about you being a bad influence. They said they wanted me to stop seeing you and I stopped paying attention."

"Why?"

"Because no reason they gave was gonna be good enough. They don't like you."

"Apparently."

"They don't like you because you make me happy and you're not something they can control."

Maureen pulled away from his chest and leaned up to kiss him. He relaxed into the kiss, letting her deepen it as she pressed against him. She swung a leg over to straddle him and moved her lips to his neck. Roger moaned as she kissed and licked at his neck and collarbone. She could feel him growing harder with each kiss.

"Maureen…"

"Let's go up to your room," she whispered in his ear.

Roger kissed her again and she scrambled off his lap. Maureen grabbed his hand and started down the hall. He stopped halfway to his room.

"Mo, wait."

"What? What's wrong?"

"What are we doing?"

"Going down the hall to your bedroom."

"Yeah, but to do what?"

"Come on, baby, don't you like this?" she asked, kissing his neck.

Roger groaned and tried to read the expression in her eyes.

"Come on," she said, pecking his lips before continuing on to the bedroom.

He stumbled behind her, half-hoping he knew where this was going, half-afraid he knew where it was going. Maureen let go of his hand when they go to his bedroom and sat down on the bed. She'd been there before. They made out there on more than a few occasions, but this was different. This was the first time they'd been alone in the house. And the first time that Maureen had been the one to suggest they move to the bedroom.

Roger sat beside her, hesitating. She kissed him harder than before. He leaned down, pulling her on top of him. Maureen started to slide her hands down his chest. Moaning into her mouth, Roger reached a hand down to slip up her shirt and caressed her breasts through her bra.

Before Roger quite knew what was happening, she pulled away and took her shirt off. She grabbed his shirt and tugged it up over his head. This was different. This was the first time Maureen had taken charge, that she'd been the one pushing the envelope. She kissed him again as she leaned down over him.

"Roger," she whispered, kissing up his neck to his ear.

"Mmm…God, Maureen, I want you so much…"

She let one hand drift down between them and stroked him through his jeans. "I can tell," she whispered.

Roger moaned, trying to keep something close to a clear head. Fuck, though…that was her mouth slipping down his chest, kissing and licking and sucking, and all the while her hand rubbing him through the rough denim of his jeans.

It was the first time they'd even gone this far. Hell, at seventeen, Roger was glad they'd done anything. Maureen kissed her way down his toned chest and abs, smiling when he gasped as her mouth traveled down to the waistband of his jeans. She glanced up at him and smiled before starting to undo his jeans.

"Wait," he panted.

Maureen sat up, face flushed. "What? Did I do something wrong?"

Roger smiled, shaking his head. "Not at all. I just…Is this because you're mad at your parents?"

"What?"

"Is this because you're mad at them? I mean, if we're gonna do this, I don't want it to be because you're pissed."

"Roger, if we were gonna have 'Maureen's pissed at her parents' sex, we'd have done it months ago."

"This really what you want then?"

Maureen smiled and nodded. "I'm not….this isn't because I'm mad. I love you and I want you. All of you. And I want to give you all of me…God, that sounded like one of those really bad romance flicks, didn't it?"

Roger smiled. "Little. But I know what you mean."

"And?"

Roger pulled her down onto the bed with him. "You even have to ask that? I love you and I want you and you're driving me insane."

Maureen giggled. Roger rolled over so he was on top of her and straddled her hips. He leaned down and kissed her gently. "Hang on a second."

"What?" she asked.

"Condoms," he said, leaping off the bed and rummaging through his dresser.

Maureen raised an eyebrow.

"My dad," he explained. "He figured I'd be having sex by now and thought he'd do me a favor."

"Remind me to thank him," she laughed as he came back to the bed.

Maureen got up on her knees and kissed his neck, her hands fumbling with his fly. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, peeling it away. She moaned as his hands roamed over her bare breasts.

Roger felt Maureen tug down his jeans and he broke away to kick them off. She lay back on the bed and watched Roger slip out of his boxers.

Maureen reached for his hand and took the condom package from him. She ripped it open and, slightly shaking, slipped it on for him. Roger bit his lip, praying that he'd be able to be more than a 'minute man' like some of the other guys at school were known to be.

Maureen snaked one arm around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. She leaned back again, this time Roger leaning over her. Her pants were still on and Roger reached for the button on her jeans. She wriggled out of them easily. Her breath caught in her throat when Roger touched her hip and the waistband of her panties. He trailed his hand up her stomach to curl around her side as he kissed her.

"Baby, we don't have to do this."

"I want to."

Roger smiled. "Okay."

"Okay? I finally say 'let's have sex' and your response is 'okay'?" she teased.

Roger laughed. "Well what I meant was," he leaned backwards to shout, "hallelujah! Thank God! I'm the luckiest man alive!"

Maureen laughed and pulled him into another kiss.

"I do love you, you know," he said as he kissed her neck. "I mean, even aside from sex, I love you. And I meant what I said."

"Aw, baby, I love you too."

Roger hooked his thumbs into her panties and slipped them off, letting them land somewhere on the floor as his hands landed on her thighs. Maureen moaned and kissed Roger. She pressed closer against him.

"You really sure about this?" he asked.

"Absolutely. Are you?"

"Completely."

He kissed her again as he started to ease into her. When he broke off the kiss, he saw tears in her eyes and froze.

"I'm sorry! Shit, did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop? Are you okay?"

"Roger, shut up," she said, a slight laugh in her whisper. "It just hurts."

"Should I stop?"

"No, no. Just give me a minute, okay?"

Roger nodded and leaned down to kiss her forehead, then each cheek. A stray tear fell from one closed eye and he kissed it too. He tried to catch his breath and caressed her breasts, her stomach. Maureen nodded and opened her eyes.

"Okay, Rog."

"You sure?"

"Mmhmm."

"I'll stop if you want," he said. _I think I may die if you actually make me stop now, but I'll do it if that's what you want,_ Roger thought.

"I want you to go ahead, babe. Doesn't hurt so much anymore."

Roger shifted his hips forward, sliding further into her. She bit her lip and he hesitated.

"Baby, I'm okay. I'm not gonna break," she whispered in his ear, sucking his earlobe into her mouth.

Roger turned his head to capture her lips with his. "I just don't want—I want you to enjoy it too."

"I'd be having a great time if you'd stop talking," she teased.

Maureen moaned as he pushed forward, no longer hesitating. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she leaned up to kiss his neck, his collarbone, that spot behind his ear that she knew drove him crazy.

Roger moaned. He pumped his hips back and forth, speeding up when Maureen moaned with him. They were both panting now. His head dipped down to kiss her. A minute later, he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Maureen? Maureen….I'm…I'm, oh fuck, I'm—"

Maureen's legs hooked around his back, pulling him even further in. "It's okay, baby. Come on."

He moaned and moved faster. In an instant, he felt himself come in the condom and was surprised to hear Maureen moan as he did. Lying beside her, Roger slid slowly out of her and got up to toss the condom into the garbage can beside his desk. He crawled under the blankets again and pulled Maureen into his arms.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm…great," she said with a happy sigh. She kissed his chest and then laid her head on it.

"Can, um, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," she murmured.

"Was I, um, fuck…was-was I good?"

"What?"

Roger blushed. "You know…I mean, did I do okay or whatever?"

"Baby, it was my first time too but, personally, I'd say you were fantastic."

His blush deepened. "Yeah, well, it takes two."

Maureen laughed and tilted her head up to give him a quick peck. She yawned. "Didn't realize how sleepy I'd be…"

"Me either," Roger yawned.

"Let's just lay here like this all night," she said as she closed her eyes.

"Forever," Roger whispered. He kissed her the top of her head and closed his eyes.


	22. That's Where I Work, I Dance

Maureen scanned the want ads in front of her as she sat on the floor in Roger's loft.

"Any luck?" Roger called from the kitchen.

"You'd think that such a big city would have job offers left and right…"

Mark slid open the door to the loft. He set his camera down on the table and dropped his coat and scarf beside it.

"Hey, baby," he said.

"Hi, honey," Roger laughed.

"Very funny. Maureen?" he asked, going over to her. He bent down to kiss her head.

"Hmm? Oh, hi Pookie. I'm fine. Just looking for a job."

Maureen skimmed over the ads. One caught her attention.

_Wanted: Exotic dancers. Previous dance experience is a plus, not necessary. Apply in person at the Cat Scratch Club._

Exotic dancer? She knew Mark and Roger would both throw a fit over that. Still, those girls always seemed to have money. And Maureen had plenty of dance experience. She stood up.

"Think I'm going to go check out a few of these," she said, strolling to her bedroom.

Mark and Roger nodded and went back to their conversation. She stood in front of her meager closet and wondered what the hell you should wear to a job interview at a strip club. She settled on a pair of slim black pants and a low-cut red sweater. Running a hand through her hair, she grabbed her purse and gave Mark a quick kiss goodbye.

* * *

The guy in charge of the club, Lucas, said she had a good body.

"You got a problem dancing?"

"I trained in ballet for seventeen years."

He raised an eyebrow. "Trained ballerina and you wanna be a dancer here?"

Maureen tried not to roll her eyes. "Look, I need a job. You need a dancer. You interested or not?"

"Well you definitely got the attitude to do it." Lucas glanced down at his watch. "Tell ya what, club doesn't open for another three hours. Why don't you go up on the stage there and let me see what you got?"

Maureen hesitated and bit her lip. "You want me to dance or what?"

Lucas chuckled. "Look I don't personally give a damn if you can dance. Half the broads that work here can't dance for shit. We ask for dancers so we get the good bodies in here. Get up there and let me see you in the bra and panties."

Maureen nodded, more confident now. She went to the stage and, without hesitating, slipped out of her pants and pulled her sweater over her head. Lucas nodded approvingly.

"Good. Good. Lean over."

Maureen did what he said, adding a little spin as she did.

"You got it. You can put the clothes back on."

Maureen dressed quickly, smiling, and rejoined Lucas at one of the tables.

"All right, you're hired. Now, we got some rules here. Whatever your costume is each night, you stay in it. No nudity or we'll get shut down. Guys ain't allowed to touch ya except to give tips. Whatever they tip you is yours, under the table. We don't like to see boyfriends in the club. Anybody harrassin' you, you let security know and they'll escort the creep out."

"What's the pay?"

"Twelve-fifty an hour, plus tips. You start tomorrow night. Be here at six to get ready. Get some black lingerie: bra, panties, garter, fishnets. Oh, and black heels. The girls will get ya set up with some other wardrobe choices next week. I'll have your schedule tomorrow."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," she said, shaking his extended hand.

"Welcome to the Cat Scratch Club."

* * *

Fourmonths later, Maureen stumbled in late from the club. She hated her job: the catcalls, the drunks, the permanent smell of smoke and alcohol that seemed to cling to the air, and to top it all off, Maureen was pretty sure she was the only dancer not using coke or some other drug.

"Baby, that you?" Mark yawned from the couch.

"Yeah, it's me. Why didn't you go to bed, Pookie?"

Mark sat up, adjusting his glasses. "Just wanted to wait up for you. How's the world of bartending?"

She still hadn't told him or Roger about the Cat Scratch Club. Roger was always hanging out with April. April danced too but not the same days as Maureen and she was usually too stoned to recognize anybody. Mark, well, Mark she just couldn't tell. He was so sweet, so innocent. How could she tell him something like that?

Mark came over and gave her a quick hug and kiss. "I'm gonna just use the bathroom and then I'm heading to bed."

"Okay."

Maureen went to the bedroom they now shared and quickly shed the smoky clothes and lingerie. She slipped on one of Mark's old tee-shirts that hung halfway to her knees. She'd just slid under the blankets when Mark came in. He dropped his jeans to the floor and pulled a pair of sweatpants over his boxers. When he'd tugged a t-shirt on, he crawled in beside her.

"You okay, honey?" he asked, taking off his glasses.

"Yeah. Just a long night."

"Lot of drunks?"

"Yeah. Just a couple jerks who didn't get it when I cut them off."

Mark slipped his arms around her and Maureen's head went to his chest. "You know, if you want to quit, it's okay."

"Mark, we need the money."

"Not if it's making you unhappy. Besides, now that Roger's band is getting more gigs, I'm sure we'd be fine until you found something else."

"Really?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I overheard one of the waitresses at the Life talking about quitting. Maybe you could apply there."

"I just hate working there."

"And I only want you to be happy."

Maureen looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "I think you're the first person to say that to me."

"I mean it. And I'll support you whether you work at that stupid bar or not."

"I'm quitting tomorrow."

"Good," he said with a smile. He kept one arm around her and wiped her tears with the other. "No more tears, okay?"

Maureen smiled and leaned up to kiss him. Mark returned the kiss and rolled over, leaning over her.

"What?" she asked.

"What?" Mark laughed.

"You just…why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. You've got a weird look on your face."

Mark smiled. "I just realized something."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"I love you."

He leaned down and kissed her softly. Maureen slipped her arms around his neck deepening the kiss. "I love you too," she whispered.

* * *

The next day, Maureen quit the Cat Scratch Club. Lucas was already interviewing some new girl by the time Maureen left. She was younger than Maureen, a gorgeous Latina. Maureen patted her arm as she left.

"Good luck."

"Thanks," the girl said.

On her way back to the loft, Maureen stopped at the Life Café. A sign in the window caught her eye. Help Wanted.


	23. Wine and Beer

**Note: **_Sorry it took me a while to update! I wanted to get a Mark story up and this took a while. It's a bit longer than most of the stories, but once I started writing, I just couldn't stop. Please review! And, as always, much thanks and love to everyone who's reviewed, favorited and read thus far._

**Warning: **_This chapter contains alcoholism, scenes of mild violence, and a very not-so-nice Mark._

* * *

Mark and Nikki had been dating for almost three months. She was, as far as Mark was concerned, the best thing to ever happen to him.

"You work tonight?" he asked, holding her to him.

"Nope. All yours tonight…Let's just stay in tonight," Nikki said, kissing his neck.

"I definitely like the sound of that," he laughed.

Nikki kissed his neck and then up his jaw until she reached his mouth. She kissed him slowly, teasing him, and walked backwards towards the bedroom.

A month later, Mark found an empty box. It was a pregnancy test kit. How the hell was this possible? He paced the living room of Nikki's apartment, the empty box sitting on the table. She unlocked the door and looked a little surprised to see him.

"Hey, babe. I thought you had to work."

"Got off early. What, uh, what the hell's that?" he asked, trying to stay calm.

"What's what?" Nikki's brown eyes fell on the empty box. "Shit…"

Mark sighed and resumed his pacing. "What did the results say?"

Nikki didn't answer him.

"Nik, what did the test say?" he asked, his voice raising.

She looked like she would cry. Mark went to her and pulled her into his arms. "It's okay, baby. Whatever it is…look, I'm sorry, okay? I just didn't, um, didn't plan for…"

"You think I did?" she asked.

Mark tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Nikki tried to blink back her tears but a few slipped out. Mark reached a hand out and wiped them away. "I know you didn't, Nikki. I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, okay? We'll figure this out together."

"You're—you're not mad, then?"

"Mad? Of course not. Surprised, sure…I mean, we used protection. But I guess one of the condoms must've torn."

"Yeah…yeah…" she mumbled, looking away.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's okay. I promise, Nik. It'll be okay."

* * *

Two months later, Mark walked in and found Nikki in bed with Jordan. He was sound asleep. Nikki's eyes widened when she saw Mark. She slipped out of bed and pulled her robe on. Mark stormed into the living room. Nikki followed.

"Mark, I thought you had class."

"Yeah, I thought it'd be nice to surprise you for our anniversary."

"Our…oh fuck…it's six months…"

"Yeah and clearly meant a lot to you."

"Mark, I'm sorry."

"Is the baby mine?"

"What?"

"We used protection. Is the baby mine? Or his?"

Nikki stared at the floor.

"Tell me, Nikki! Is it mine? Is it mine or have you been fucking him the whole time?"

"Mark, just—"

"What's his name?"

"Jordan."

"Nikki, please tell me that's not Jordan, ex-boyfriend Jordan."

She nodded.

"When?"

"What?"

"When did you get back with him?"

Nikki stared at the ground. "A little more than a month ago."

"So is it mine or his?"

She blinked back tears and looked up at Mark. "The doctor told me the conception date."

"And?"

"The baby was conceived the weekend you went home to Scarsdale."

"The weekend…" he mumbled, shaking his head. "You know what? Fine. Nevermind. Goodbye."

"Mark, wait—"

"Don't, Nik. Goodbye."

Mark stepped into the cold February night and headed for a bar. He didn't leave until they kicked him out.

* * *

Two months after he left Nikki, Mark found himself in the bars more and more frequently. He skipped his morning classes to sleep off hangovers more often than not. He couldn't believe what she'd done. He missed Nikki. It still hurt to see her and Jordan around campus, her stomach now starting to show. Mark ignored and avoided her.

The first notices from the dean about his grades were promptly thrown out. Mark didn't care anymore. What difference did it make? He woke one morning to the blaring of his phone. "Who the hell is calling this early?" he groaned.

"Hello?"

"Mark Cohen! You are in big trouble!"

"Hey, Dad. Could I call you back? I just—"

"No! We're doing this now. What the hell is going on?"

"Dad, why are you shouting? What's—"

"The school sent us a notice. You're flunking out?"

"Dad, I can explain."

"You have three seconds to explain."

Mark sighed. "I've just been…busy."

"Busy what? Drinking?"

"Where did that come from?"

"This is the third time I've called your room. I got worried and called that friend of yours, Benny. He says you been spending a lot of time at the bars. That it, Mark? That what you've been doing?"

"Dad, it's not—"

"Have you been drinking or not?"

"Not this morning."

"Mark, if you think for one second that there's any way I'm payin' for my son to be in a school where he's doing nothing but drink, you got another thing coming."

"Would you just calm down?"

"Calm down? Have you not been listening? You're flunking out! That's it! No more!"

"Fine! So I flunked out! I ruined my life and I'm a failure. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Don't use that tone—"

"Dad, what else am I supposed to say? Nothing I say is going to fix this! I…I have to go. I'll call later. Bye." He hung up before his father could protest.

Crawling out of bed, Mark remembered the bottle of vodka he still had under the bed. He pulled it out and took a swig. Fuck, it was going to be a long day. There was a knock at the door and Mark quickly shoved the bottle back under the bed.

* * *

After the blowout with his father, Mark packed his things. His parents didn't like that he seemed to be giving up on school. His mother called, pleading with him to straighten up. Mark didn't want to straighten up. He liked his life the way it was going now. When his father disowned him, Mark felt something almost like relief. At least now he wouldn't have to lie about what he was doing and where he was going.

He moved into the loft after that. Benny found the place and they decided to move in with a couple guys from school. Roger, a musician Mark vaguely remembered from one of his frequently skipped classes, and Collins, Benny's friend that had tutored him last semester. Mark liked these guys. They drank with him, didn't judge him. Hell, Roger's band getting gigs gave Mark not just the excuse, but the opportunity to go to a bar.

Mark even began dating again. Roger's ex-girlfriend, Maureen. The two dated in high school but insisted they were just friends now. Mark didn't care if they had a history. He cared that Maureen was hot and available and clearly falling for him.

"Mark? Could I talk to you a minute?" she asked one evening.

"Sure, babe. What's up?"

"Let's stay in tonight."

"What? Why?"

"Well, we always go out and you always get drunk and I just thought—"

"I don't always get drunk, Maureen. Quit being dramatic."

She looked hurt. "Okay, fine. Well call it what you want but when you spend most mornings in bed sleeping off hangovers, I call it getting drunk."

Mark rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen. He bent down, pretending to tie his shoe. He needed the beer he kept in the bottom cabinet. Taking a quick gulp, he stood up and turned to find Maureen standing in the kitchen.

"Jesus, babe, you scared the hell out of me."

"What were you doing?"

"Tying my shoe."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What were you drinking?"

"What? Nothing. I wasn't drinking anything. I told you I was tying my shoe."

"Yeah and I saw you holding a bottle when I came in."

"Must be imagining things, Mo."

He started to walk past her, but stopped when she reached for the cabinet. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for something." She pulled out the bottle. "This the shoe you were tying?"

"Fuck off."

"Don't talk to me like that!"

Mark stormed back into the living room, wishing she'd just shut up and let him be. Maureen followed him, her face a mix of worry and anger. She approached him slowly.

"Baby," she said, "have you been drinking this morning? Besides what I found?"

Mark glared at her. "You smell alcohol?" he asked, stepping as close to her as he could without touching her.

"I always smell alcohol on you, Mark. And to tell you the truth, it's getting really fuckin' old!"

"Oh give it a fucking rest," he sighed.

"Why don't you give it a rest? Go one night without drinking."

"What?"

"One night. Please. For me."

"Fuck off, Maureen."

"You need help."

"Excuse me?"

"You need help, Mark. I think…I think you're an alcoholic."

Mark grabbed her arm hard. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Mark! Let go of me, now!"

He let her arm go. "Mind your own fucking business."

Maureen looked ready to cry. "Baby, please, I'm worried about—"

"Shut up, Maureen."

"Mark, no, we need to—"

His hand shot out, smacking her across the face. "I said shut up!"

Maureen stumbled backwards. Her eyes were now full of tears. Not sad tears, as before, but tears of anger and frustration. She glared at him. Mark took a step backwards, realizing what he'd done. Maureen went up to him and backhanded him just as hard.

"Pick up your hands to me again and I swear to God I'll cut your dick off," she said, jaw clenched.

"Mo, I'm sor—"

He reached for her arm but she shrugged it off. "Mark, don't. Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. Don't apologize. Get help or we're through."

Mark opened his mouth to reply but stopped when the loft door slid open. Roger stumbled in with a slender redhead. Mark seemed to remember her name was April. Roger had been bringing her home for months now. Nobody felt right about the influence she seemed to be having on Roger. He stayed out for days a time, his demeanor had changed, and everything about him seemed harsher, crueler.

Mark and Maureen watched them disappear into Roger's bedroom. Mark froze when he saw something fall from Roger's pocket.

"What the hell is that?" Maureen said quietly.

Mark bent down and picked up the little baggie. His eyes widened and he looked to Maureen. She eyed the contents of the bag, let out a small sigh and backed up to the couch. Mark sat beside her.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" he asked.

"Wait for Collins and Benny to get home. Then discuss it with them. Get Roger off the drugs. He can't throw his life away like this."

Mark nodded.

"Neither can you."

He looked at her and nodded again.

"I meant what I said, Mark. Stop drinking or we're done."

Three days later, Mark found April dead in their bathtub. He quit drinking then. Maureen never mentioned it again.

* * *

**Note: **_I know Mark's confession implied no one knew of his alcoholism. Remember, Maureen only suspects alcoholism. Technicality, I know, but this is how the story came out._


	24. The Pain Will Ease

**Note: **_Okay, guys, I've had several requests to do a one-shot on Mimi cutting. So here's where she started...Of course, I do not condone cutting in any way. If you or someone you know cuts, seek medical attention immediately. _

**Note 2: **_I've had a lot of fun doing this story, but this is going to be the last one-shot. I've got a lot of other stories I'm trying to get up and I'm afraid I'm running out of steam on this one. So I figure, let's go out with "one blaze of glory" instead of just throwing out bad stories. Thanks for all the reviews. If you liked this story, please check out my other stories too. Thanks! _:)

Mimi sat in the dressing room of the club. She hated doing this. One of the girls, Mimi couldn't remember her name, had helped her shoot up a few times now to work up the nerve to get out there. Benny had gotten her high two months ago with his roommate's stash. He didn't realize she was still doing it. Mimi slicked on some eyeliner and sighed, staring at her own sad reflection.

"Meems, you okay?" Candy asked.

"Fine. Just fucking fine," she said.

Candy glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. "You hate doing this, don't you?"

"I just…it just gets old, you know? The leering, the grabbing, the…everything…"

"I know what you mean. Listen, you wanna know what I do? What helps me forget it all?"

"I've tried smack, Candy."

"Nah, this don't cost a thing, sugar."

Mimi looked up, intrigued. Candy glanced over her shoulder again and grabbed a pair of scissors out of the drawer. She watched in amazement as Candy slid off her blue sleeves and pushed the scissors against her forearm. When a thin trickle of blood flowed out beneath the scissors, she sighed and set the scissors down. Mimi watched as she grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped off the scissors. A few more tissues were pressed against the cut on her arm. When the bleeding had stopped, she tugged the sleeve back on.

"How exactly is that going to help me?"

"Because, see, the physical pain of it overrides the emotional bullshit. If you're focused on your arm hurting, for example, you're not thinkin' about that boyfriend that pissed you off or the fight with your parents or whatever."

Mimi bit her lip and reached for the scissors. Candy grabbed her hand.

"Don't go too deep though. You wanna forget, not kill yourself."

Mimi nodded and grabbed the scissor. She looked at her forearm, already covered in track marks. Seemed as good a place as any. Mimi took a deep breath and pressed the edge of the scissor down. She gasped at the pain, but smiled. It did make her forget, at least for that instant. Candy smiled and handed her a box of tissues. Mimi wiped the scissors clean and handed them back.

"Thanks."

"No problem, girl."

Mimi took a handful of tissues and pressed them to her arm, noting that the pressure hurt more and brought more relief. This was definitely cheaper than smack. And almost as effective. On her way home that night, Mimi stopped at the convenience store and bought a pack of razor blades. She smiled to herself as the streetlights glinted off the silver of the blades.

"My new best friends," she mumbled to herself.

Mimi paused in the alleyway and opened the package. She pulled one blade out and added a second cut near the one from earlier in the evening. When she saw the blood, she realized she didn't have anything to clean it up with. _Oh well,_ she thought. The pain was great and she didn't give a damn if it stained her clothing.


End file.
